


Because of Me, Because of You

by TwinKats



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ardyn is mentally fucked up, Ardyn is really just tired and wants to die already, Ardyn's a broken man, Baby Noctis, Bahamut is a dick of epic proportions, Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Gen, Hallucinations, I have an enabler for this fic and I blame them, It's Ardyn, Oops, PTSD, Political intrigue?, Pre-Canon, Regis and Ardyn's eventual bromance, Regis doesn't understand what is going on, Regis is just done with his family, Regis wants to fix, Sterility, Suicidal Ideation, To a point, Tragedy, after a fashion, at some point, bad thoughts galore, drinking oneself to death is not health do not repeat, improper coping mechanisms, is that a spoiler?, it's a pervading thought in a lot of people's minds, kill the Draconian, not okay Ardyn, temporary character death because Ardyn is a walking disaster, temporary suicide warning?, then its gonna just go fuck-ways, they're all fucking insane, walking trashman get's into some shit, well implied at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: Ardyn was a hundred percent Not Okay. He knew that. He accepted it. The daemons bayed at the bit of his mind and egged him on to even worse heights, and the sun burned, and he hissed in a thousand voices of people he'd long devoured in fits of death. Ardyn was Not Okay, and that was perfectly normal. He was a daemon now, after all, so it had to be normal.At least that remained the case until Regis Lucis Caelum and the Lucis Caelum bullshit reared its ugly head. Regis decided that having daemons chatter in your head and being Not Okay was not Perfectly Normal and instead he would fix it; because Adagium was not something to be forgotten in the annals of history and his ancestry was a dickbag of epic proportions and fuck, Regis wasn't pitting a baby against a man who probably needed some deep therapy. Bahamut could suck it; Ardyn made Regiscareabout him now which mean the Prophecy was officially On Hold. Forever.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Regis Lucis Caelum, Verstael Besithia & Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Kirallie. I've been egged on, dammit. Enjoy this mess of a fic and its slightly slow start.
> 
> (seriously Regis isn't here yet; neither is _Noctis_ it's a slow start ok)

Ardyn didn’t know how he felt about anything at all as he peered down into the swill in his glass with disinterested fervor. After he’d awoken, after the mess in In _somnia_ —and fuck if that name didn’t make his blood _boil_ , a whole city named after—after—Ardyn grit his teeth and drowned down another glass of foul-tasting bottom of the barrel muck just to rid himself of the thoughts that plagued him. He slammed the glass down and gestured for another, fought to keep his face _his face_ instead of letting the Scourge run bare in his misery and fury.

Somnus had the _gall_ to beg understanding from him, Ardyn snorted disdainfully and accepted another drink from the barkeep without even a nod of thanks. The man had already learned not to dare cut him off the once, so he didn’t bother this time for which Ardyn was quite grateful. He wanted to drink until he was dead, until the scourge burned through his veins—or until Bisithia came and dragged him out of the hole that he’d crawled into. There was only so much of the man he could take in a sitting, all told, and Ardyn found himself quite tired of the tireless blond.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Ardyn didn’t dare raise his head, although he felt his spine stiffen at a voice that haunted his waking nightmares. He clenched tight around his drink.

“Pray be another torment,” Ardyn said bitterly instead. “Have I not suffered enough?”

“One Shiva’s Wrath,” the stranger settled beside him, dainty legs pressed against his for half-a-second and Ardyn scoffed down into his piss-poor drink.

“Oh, leave me be,” Ardyn grumbled. “I’ve not the mood for the whimsies of the Gods.”

A gruff, “Here,” and the barkeep offered his new drinking partner her glass. Ardyn dutifully ignored her, downed his own drink, and gestured for another only to have a small, familiarly shaped hand reach out and grasp at his wrist. He stared at it, vision on the faintest edge of swimming.

“No more for this fool of a _prophet_ ,” Aera said, words filled with poison, and Ardyn darted his gaze toward her with wide-eyed horror and a hitched breath. He traced the contours of her face, the way her brow sloped down, the furrow of her eyes—the pale, pale blue and the gold-spun hair—and Ardyn swallowed, heavily.

“Angel,” Ardyn murmured, words thick in his throat. Aera laughed and Ardyn winced—the sound was sharper than the bells he could remember, but undoubtedly this was _Aera_. She whispered his name, a teasing tilt to her lips as she did so and Ardyn shuddered and tugged at his wrist in her tight grip.

“You’ve had enough,” Aera said, and Ardyn rolled his gaze heavenward for a moment, before he acquiesced with a sigh.

“If that is your command,” Ardyn said, and Aera let go of his wrist with a smile. Ardyn fluttered his hands down toward the table, and then to his lap in a nervous gesture. He couldn’t quite parse what Aera said as she sipped at her own frozen concoction, but he thought he heard a question in there even as he smiled a bit small and bitter and murmured, “I am well.”

“You are drunk,” Aera pointed out, perhaps a bit more bluntly, but Ardyn blamed the drink for that. Aera tended to grow a bit blunter the more wine she’d had in hand; crass and sass bound up in a dainty beautiful form that was the Voice of the Gods.

“Am not,” Ardyn pouted, then winced, then frowned. “Ah, mayhap I am, a little. Parched.”

“ _Plastered_ ,” Aera said, and Ardyn didn’t understand the word. What did _plaster_ have to do with anything, and how can one _plaster_ a person let alone oneself when _plaster_ itself was meant to be on the walls? After a second Ardyn just decided to laugh. Perhaps it was a joke.

It must be a joke.

Ardyn started to cry.

* * *

When Ardyn awoke, he found himself face-down into poor cotton sheets that dug into his cheeks like knives. His head hurt, a pounding that was not so unfamiliar, yet not accompanied by the ravenous _need_ that he typically felt with the thud of his Scourge sodden heartbeat. His tongue was thick and cotton-mouthed and he tried to squint against the influx of light through a window, only to hiss like the daemon he was and fumble off of the bed.

“Gods,” Ardyn groaned, and buried his face into his arms. “Wh’m’I?” He tried to peer with a bleary gold gaze around the room from the little bit of shadows he found solace in, only to see nothing to give away his exact location except the telltale signs of a rented room in some meagre slums in Gralea. That meant he either drank enough to just pass out and not _die_ , as he woke without the Scourge baying at the bit beneath his skin, and someone found him and took him here— _or…_ or Ardyn ate yet another person’s entire being until the Scourge turned them to mist and made them a part of his new whole, and someone later found him passed out in a shit-heap of an alleyway somewhere.

Eventually Ardyn gathered up enough of his wits to crawl from the bedside to the window; he hissed each time the sun touched skin, or eyes, and rolled back into the shadows. It took him far too long than he liked to get to the window, each movement a bit like agony, but eventually he succeeded and eventually he was able to drag the blinds closed enough for blessed shadow to caress his form. Ardyn near wept in relief as he huddled beneath the window and dug his fingers into his shorn hair and just _breathed_.

Scourge wafted from his skin, newly healed little burns where the sun struck too hard and too long as Ardyn bared little to no skin into the blistering light these days, not even for Bisithia and his _gods-damned research_ anymore. Ardyn long had enough these past few years scorching himself on a heat no other could feel except the daemon’s he shared a fate with, and while masochistic he may have long become Ardyn at least had some sense of preservation behind his thick skull still. It took another ten to fifteen minutes for the tears of Scourge from his eyes to subside, and for his breathing to finally even out. Finally, as his heartrate returned to a slow, dead sort of thud behind his ribcage Ardyn glanced a look around himself, much clearer now that the shadows pervaded the room like a safe sort of haven.

The first thing he honestly did, while the dull thud of his hangover burned behind his eyes, was stare at his pale and utterly naked thigh in disbelief. That quite ashamedly ruled out him having devoured a person with the Scourge in an acute fit of death brought on by excessive drinking. It also put a bit of a damper on some random stranger to have found him passed out drunk and bought him a room. Ardyn hated to remove his clothes—hated the feel of the sheets beneath his skin, the rougher fabrics those in Gralea were far used to with the inclement weather after the death of Shiva’s slumbering form. The cold bothered him, certainly, bitter in its bite—but cold was better than tiny knives that dug into skin not used to sensation after so long in the dark, where the only touch was the pull of his chains embedded in his flesh.

Ardyn struggled to his feet, legs and hips like jelly but stiff as boards. He nearly ripped the curtains from their rings as he stood, and leaned heavily against the wall. His gaze stayed stuck firmly on his pale, scarred thigh with wide eyes. What had he done? What had happened? Ardyn struggled to remember, fought back down to last night—he did _something_ , hadn’t he? He—

_—a moan, a name so soft on his lips, a whisper and a plea as pleasure arches higher and higher and—_

With a heavy swallow Ardyn clenched a hand into his thigh, and another into his hair as if that would wave away the fog in his mind. It couldn’t. All he could recall were half-smoke-like things from a waking nightmare, and a touch so divine it half-made Ardyn want to beg the Gods for mercy. Mercy, Ardyn knew, he would not be granted. Under Bahamut’s rule no reprieve would come for the Scourge-bound Ardyn and his divinely fated duty to rend the world into eternal night. The hand in his hair shifted to cover of his eyes and Ardyn—breathed. Slow. Steady.

He needed to stop drinking. Ardyn knew this, knew this the way his mind felt slow and sluggish and how his emotions bled around him like wounds his brother carved into his very soul. He needed to stop drinking and just accept his fate already, as he swore he’d done when Bahamut finally dropped him out of the Beyond and back into his Prison without so much of a by your leave. He knew his duty, he _knew_ —Ardyn gripped tight around his eyes and fought down the tears. He knew, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Off somewhere to his left a lock clicked in the door and Ardyn turned, well aware of his own nakedness as he dropped his hand from his face, but unashamed in the least because honestly perhaps now he would get an answer as to what happened. The only fool to walk into this room must be the fool that brought Ardyn here and undressed him, and so would be the fool Ardyn would make fully aware on why his person is a sacred thing and _never to touch him again_.

The sun streaked through the door as it opened and Ardyn hissed and stumbled backward. He blinked spots out of his eyes as the door snapped shut a second later and caught sight of pale blond—Bisithia. Bisithia stood in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared upon Ardyn’s naked flesh. Ardyn bristled; the man had seen him naked more than once, why did he appear so shocked at the vision now?

“Flies,” Ardyn hissed through his teeth, “Verstael.”

Bisithia’s mouth clicked shut. He looked puzzled, and murmured something that Ardyn couldn’t quite catch—he thought he heard a name, Andrea, and something about not expecting—Ardyn winced and just stared balefully at the blond whom held his leash.

“Well?” Ardyn drawled, and drew himself up to stand at least tall and seem unaffected by the pounding behind his skull. Bisithia had seen him at worse states than this, but something along the edge of his spine _grated_ at the idea of the man seeing any more.

“Hmph,” Bisithia looked away. “Are you quite done drinking yourself to death then?” the scientist demanded.

Ardyn stumbled from the wall and over toward the bed and decided to ignore the way Bisithia’s gaze instantly tracked back to him. If Bisithia wanted to _talk_ then damn if Ardyn would stand there naked like some sort of subject of the man’s and talk. He’d be dressed like a decent human even if a parody of one, being that Ardyn doubted he could call himself human these days. He hunted for his clothes and ignored Bisithia’s demand to be answered until after he’d found his trousers.

“Ardyn I am quite serious—” Bisithia started, lips pressed together, and Ardyn raised his trousers up for inspection.

“Does this look like a stain?” Ardyn mumbled, and shoved the pants under Bisithia’s nose.

Bisithia went a bit cross-eyed as he replied, “Does it matter?”

“They were my favorite pair,” Ardyn said dramatically.

Bisithia shoved the pants out of his face and said sharply, “You have _fifteen copies_ of that exact same pair of pants.” A second later Bisithia pulled a face, a pinched and scrunched look to his nose as he stared down at Ardyn, for a given take of down considering how _tiny_ Bisithia was compared to the daemon of a man. “Just get _dressed_.”

“Mm,” Ardyn hummed and sat himself down on the edge of the bed. He hid a grimace and a wince and began to pull his trousers on. “How did you find me, my dear Verstael?” He let the words drag out, forced them to sound less slurred with pain and more elongated in the whimsical way Bisithia knew him to speak.

“You were getting sloppy,” Bisithia said disdainfully. “I tracked your conquests through three precincts of the past day and a half. Had someone pick you up at the shittiest place I could find.” Bisithia looked away. “Are you done acting like a jilted lover?”

Ardyn stiffened, and with barely a thought he found himself in front of Bisithia one hand wrapped around the man’s neck. The way Bisithia’s eyes widened in surprise felt a bit like a gift—ah, Ardyn hadn’t done this to the pesky scientist yet, had he? Perhaps he should’ve put the man in his place some time back, but then Bisithia had his uses and Ardyn had felt a bit grateful to the man for rescuing him initially, after all.

Enough was enough, though, and Ardyn let Bisithia know that in the way that he tightened his grip just enough for the man to choke.

“I will do as I please,” Ardyn hissed out. “As we agreed.” He let go of Bisithia a second later and turned to walk back to hunt down a shirt to wear instead.

“Killing the scum of the earth like you have been is so far beneath you,” Bisithia said, no sign of a hacking cough or otherwise disturbed by Ardyn’s sudden lash out at him. “You were beautiful against Insomnia. If you would just—”

“ _As we agreed_ , Versteal,” Ardyn said, tone just this edge of sharper. “My performance granted you the information you sought, surely. What more could you want from little old me?”

Bisithia pursed his lips and turned his head away and—ah, Ardyn recognized that look. Petulance. Somnus used to wear it pretty well too. Ardyn laughed, a bitter sort of sound at the realization. Someone else wanted something from him, then. Bisithia sought him out on someone else’s behalf.

“Who is it?” Ardyn asked, just the slightest bit tired.

Bisithia swallowed, and then twisted himself up straighter and composed his face as he uttered, “His Imperial Majesty Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt has commanded you to appear before him. Tomorrow.”

Ardyn deflated, instantly. The fight and petulance and frustration bled from him like the Scourge; leaked away out of every orifice until he was slumped in front of Bisithia, one hand clenched tight against his bad leg in the only tenseness he displayed. He’d momentarily forgotten his shirt in the conversation, half-turned from Bisithia to search through the pile of clothing and bedsheets. Now he just stood, frozen with thoughts mired down by sluggish, post-drunk hangover thought.

The attention of a Monarch; hadn’t this been a potential thread of a plan Ardyn thought of once when the only freedom he’d had remained within Bisithia’s research facility? How much did he honestly _want_ it though, now; what use was the attention of some foolish man like Aldercapt after everything he’d learned? A Monach whose only desire was to wage war with the country of Ardyn’s homeland—and while Ardyn held no love for the reigning family of Lucis he still felt a bit _responsible_ for the land of his birth. Nearly twenty years of constant healing pilgrimages and care for a people ingrained that deep into him. Except—except the Lucis that he cared for was long dead, wasn’t it? Who could remember the Healer that walked among the People now, so long after his brother vilified his every action?

Ardyn bit back a bitter chuff of a laugh; _Adagium_ indeed.

In the silence Ardyn unearthed his undershirt, toed it over to the wall so that he could press his weight against it to reach down without precariously overbalancing himself. He pulled the shirt on, tense and loose all over the place as his thoughts drifted in and out with pros and cons of Aldercapt and this _command_ to appear before the man.

“Your Emperor has no command of me,” Ardyn said eventually, shirt back onto his person and scars once more covered. He watched the way Bisithia tensed, the worried furrow to his brow and the way his lips pressed thin. Bisithia’s eyes darted back toward the door and then toward Ardyn, and he waited until that edge of _something_ shifted into Bisithia’s gaze before Ardyn waved a hand magnanimously, “But I suppose I could let him entertain the belief, for now.”

Bisithia relaxed, and Ardyn let a smug, tired smile curl at his lips even as his eyes pounded in his head. This could be useful; if the blasted Draconian wanted him to spread Darkness and Night, then perhaps a start with a war-focused country would be best. If he could then use their resources to keep tabs on his darling _grand-nephew_ and an ear to the ground on his eventual demise-to-be, well, even better. After all the supposed King of Light would undoubtedly be born into the Royal Family; Bahamut all but confirmed _that_ tidbit of information.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Animus isn't sure of this new stranger, and Ardyn is _angry_.

Animus stood tall at his father’s side as he awaited the entrance to the man that Chief Engineer Besithia swore would be their savior. Honestly, he did not understand why Father was so enamored with the man, but it was Father so he would stand here and wait as patiently as he could. Uncle always told him that he had to be good for Father; after all, Animus was all that Father had left—Uncle didn’t live in Gralea or Niflheim anymore. Father said he _ran away_ but that didn’t seem like Uncle to Animus.

Cloth rustled as Animus shifted and fought to keep his face blank like he was supposed to. Uncle said he left Niflheim because it wasn’t the same—once there were flowers and a summer, and supposedly it was beautiful in those days. War ravaged the land, and the Niflheim Animus knew differed greatly from Uncle’s stories. He was only ten, but in those ten years Animus had seen only the effects of war. He watched his Father bend ear to his Advisors, discuss the lands they wished to expand into next. He listened as discussion of Lucis and their hoarding of magic brought Father to anger, and the grief that encompassed the man when he looked at Animus. Animus watched as the skies grew darker and darker, and listened while Chief Engineer Besithia called this change a _good thing_.

The white of his robes shifted again, and Animus could not stop the slight purse to his lips at his own movement. He could not help it; staying still was _hard_. Already he stood here like a statue for thirty minutes as he waited for this man to make an appearance. He had to stand through petitions and Advisors with their squabbles that made little sense to Animus. Why couldn’t people just get along? Animus glanced to Father who looked over to him and smiled, sadly, behind his goatee.

“A little longer,” Father uttered softly as he leaned over the edge of the chair. He raised a hand to be discreet, but everyone could easily see that he aimed to console his still too-young heir. Animus flushed.

“Sorry, Father,” he said, and turned his gaze downward. Father chuckled and leaned back away to motion for the Advisor to continue in his purview with a _Look_ that Animus knew rather well.

Animus’ ears reddened.

For a while they droned on, and Animus mentally drifted just a bit away from the talks in front of him. He wondered if he could get Uncle to send him something to tinker with in the next package that would arrive. Perhaps he could construct something for Father? Maybe even something that would get Animus out of a day of martial practice. His teachers disliked the art of the sword since it was such a _Lucian_ thing but it was also traditional for nobles and royals to know swordsmanship. Uncle often said that Lucian things were _interesting_ , and Animus wondered if he could get Uncle to send him something Lucian to make. Except of course that would anger Father, as anything with Uncle or Lucian often did, and Animus saw the amount of stress Father was under now. He gained wrinkles that weren’t there before, and his hair was going grey, and Animus worried in the way a ten-year-old could.

The door to the council chamber swung open as Animus shifted again slightly at his father’s side. Immediately the room went silent—Chief Engineer Besithia off to the left hand side of the room got to his feet, a smile on his lips, but Animus focused instead on the stranger to enter into the room. The man was tall, taller than anyone Animus had ever met. Father was tall, and yet this stranger dressed in blacks and greys and little white here and there stood even taller than _Father_. He sauntered into the room, swaggered with each step, and a genial smile across his face.

“Your Imperial Radiance,” Chief Engineer Besithia intoned as the stranger grew closer, “may I introduce the man who made our infiltration into Insomnia possible—Ardyn Izunia.”

Ardyn Izunia bowed deeply before Father, one hand grasped the hat upon his head as he swept it off. The other arm, clothed in some large and cumbersome thing, swept out to the side.

“A pleasure, your Radiance,” Ardyn said in dulcet tones and Animus had to fight down a shiver. The man had a presence, a terrifying and soul grasping presence that made the hairs on Animus’ arms stand on end. He wondered if Father could feel it, too. A quick glance, and the sight of a wide grin and wide eyes gave Animus another twinge of—something. He fought down the tingle along his spine.

Father noticed the man’s presence, of that Animus didn’t have a doubt.

* * *

Ardyn grit his teeth behind his grin as he made his way out of the chambers with a genial dismissal, Besithia at his side. He restrained himself, rather admirably if he was to be generous, from ripping the scientists little _head_ off. Honestly this wasn't part of their agreement when Ardyn one-man-army'd his way into Lucis' borders and brought down a chunk of Lucis' defenses so that Niffelheim could proceed to infiltrate into the capital city. Besithia was to assure that Ardyn would be free to do as he pleases--not to be _beholden_ to some fool Emperor who fashioned himself the next coming of the Archon of Solheim. Ardyn rolled his shoulders, eased the tension from his back and neck and then breathed out a heavy sigh.

"...do so much more, get so much more done," Besithia said and Ardyn forced himself back into the present, back to listening to the blond as he spoke with wide gestures and a wide grin. "With you at the helm of our ambassadorial team there is--ah, this is better than I hoped."

Ardyn pursed his lips. "Than _you hoped_ , Verstael?" he drawled, allowed just the tiniest bit of a tinny echo into his voice.

Besithia gave Ardyn a look, a rather droll holier-than-though glance beneath his armored robes. "Yes, you are in a position of great influence, now. Upon the Emperor and his choices. With you whispering into his ear we could--"

Ardyn _moved_ , a fluid flutter of scarves and cloth as he shoved Besithia up against the wall; eyes darted to make sure they would remain undisturbed, and allowed the the scourge to move and surge around him. The shadows darkened, the scourge dragged itself down his face--he could feel it leak from his eyes and his lips as he stared at Verstael with manic fueled _anger_.

"I want you to understand something, my dearest _Verstael_ ," Ardyn drawled in a low, and echoing voice. He traced one hand along Besithia's jaw even as the other held the scientist tight at the collar of his neck. To his credit Besithia kept his hands at his sides, tense, and eyes wide to only expose any sort of unease with Ardyn's actions. "There is no _we_."

Silence as Besithia processed the words, and then foolishly he uttered, "I _made_ you, Ardyn."

Ardyn scoffed. "No," he said, voice cold even as he let Besithia go. "You didn't _make_ me. You merely _freed_ me." He stepped back and cocked his head to the side, the shadows wrapped around him like an old friend. "The only kindness I will give you from here on out, my darling, is not to _consume_ you." Slowly Ardyn let himself sink into the shadows, let them pull him away, as he uttered a last warning, "At least not until you've seen everything you care for crumble to _dust_."

Two corridors over Ardyn slipped out of the shadows, straightened his top, and then grabbed the nearest guard he could see and let the Scourge run _free_. The shadows took, and took, and _took_ and Ardyn twisted his head and breathed deeply as something settled somewhere in his chest, a feeling of purred contentment amid a spike of--sorrow. Ardyn looked down at the guards clothes as they crumpled to the ground and sorted through the memories he gained as best he could through the haze of Scourge at the forefront of his mind.

It took him but a moment to parse through the information, practice having made him rather adept at the process by now. With a slight grin and a roll of his shoulders Ardyn began a leisurely walk down the hallway toward the appointed Chancellor's chambers. He'd been told, rather in a roundabout way, that he could deal with his predecessor in whichever manner he pleased. A part of Ardyn viscerally wanted to let the Scourge swallow all, devour and consume and let himself revel in the vigor that taking a life _gave_ him. That was the Scourge talking, little whispers in his ear of what he could do--how _good_ it would feel. His goal is to spread the darkness, is it not? What better way than to consume these poor, unprepared souls until the daemons birthed from them overtake the land.

Softly, quietly, in the back of Ardyn's mind a part of him lamented the thoughts. The Healer in him would never have condoned such brutality. Somnus handled things of death and destructive nature while Ardyn tended to those wounded and nurtured the hurt. They had made a good team once--at least until the Scourge bit at their borders, consuming all in its wake and then the arguments came and _oh_ , Ardyn clenched a fist and tried to drown the memories out.

_You can never drown me out, brother_ , Somnus whispered in his ear and Ardyn shook his head sharply. One hand raised to grip his hat and he breathed, slow and steady. His hand shook. He needed a drink.

Hopefully the now former Chancellor had something worthwhile in that office.


End file.
